


Reconnecting

by Malind



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Body Modification, Dom/sub, Dysfunctional Relationships, Father/Son Incest, Human Furniture, Jealousy, Language, Love, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Denial, Piercings, Possessive Behavior, Rope Bondage, Sexual Content, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Haldir enters Thranduil's bedchambers once again, Legolas is determined to send him right back out the door one way or another.  Note the tags before reading.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnecting

**Author's Note:**

> This has body modification beyond normal piercings. I spent time researching body modification for this, as well as other things. During that, I found a picture of a specific modification, and I was like, 'okay, that's fucking hot.' You'll know what I'm talking about when you get to it, trust me. It's only a small portion of this story though.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Tolkien characters and universe are owned by Tolkien Enterprises. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

"My prince, you must leave! The king has retired for the night," the persistent servant somehow managed to wail in a whisper as her flowing robes rushed behind him.

Legolas ignored the words and elf herself as he'd been doing since he'd barged into his father's portion of the royal chambers.  Her understandable protests meant nothing to him, not with his own servant's, _'He's here,'_ still fresh in his mind. 

The moment he'd been told Haldir, a marchwarden of Lórien, had invaded their home yet again, Legolas had abandoned his scented, muscle-unwinding bath with a forcefulness that had tensed him right back up. Now, wrapped in nothing but a damp, precariously-tied robe, his water-darkened hair still slick with soap, and his white-knuckled hand gripping a sheathed blade, Legolas stormed down the hallway.  His flopping hair dripped a trail of water.  His skin dried with his speed.  His racing heart made him dizzy in his rage.

One main thought flooded his on-edge mind even as he tried to stop it:  _I'm going to kill that vile orvelethron [orc lover]._  

No matter how infrequently Haldir arrived on their doorstep, every time that elf was allowed inside, Thranduil wasn't the same for days, sometimes weeks after he left. The king would grow listless, withdrawn, volatile, all more so than he already was.

And Thranduil's body...  Legolas could always see the minuscule signs of bodily pain that Thranduil's straight posture and thick, layered clothing failed to conceal.  But at least the physical pain went away rather quickly, an elf's body's gift. 

The worst of it, Thranduil would never confide in his son what was wrong emotionally or physically, would deny there even _was_ something wrong.  It left the prince defenseless in his yearning to help the one he loved. 

That love... It had taken on far too many forms over the centuries, including immoral cravings and jealousy.

However, no matter how much Thranduil would deny his own mental and physical pain, Legolas knew better.

The heir knew what Thranduil was like when he was happy by remembering the blissfulness of his own childhood.  Nearly a millennium before, his father _had_ been happy.  ...Or at least Legolas had thought him to be.

Legolas also knew the true depths of Thranduil's debilitating mourning and its slow-but-steady diminishment over time.  At his mother's death, together, they'd barely survived.  And then, afterwards, they'd barely survived each other in their grief.  Forced distance had helped with that, as well as finding other ways to cope. 

The prince had taken up a commoner's task of patrolling the forest against his father's wishes.  Outside of the halls, he'd battled everything and everyone he'd come across to try to release his rage and appease his heartache.  It hadn't helped thus far though, well, at least not by much. 

Thranduil, on the other hand, had invited _him_ into their home.

But even with their mutually-inflicted distance, however they'd dealt with life, Legolas still knew his king so well.  More often than not, he knew his father's thoughts and orders even before Thranduil spoke them, even if they still surprised him on occasion.  He also knew everything his father did in these halls, the elder elf rarely leaving them outside of the ceremonial feasts in the forest. 

...Well, he knew _almost_ everything Thranduil did within these walls.

Legolas had no idea what this unwelcome Marchwarden did to Thranduil in the day or two before Haldir left again, even if rampant, immoral thoughts in Legolas' mind offered suggestions.  Whatever happened though clearly wasn't a normal interaction between a king and a mere sentinel from another realm.

This day, Legolas was determined to put an end to his father's and Haldir's 'relationship', since apparently his father had no intention to.  He couldn't let it continue on.  There was enough pain in their lives.  His father, for whatever reasons he welcomed Haldir into his private chambers, didn't need to add more.

If Thranduil truly wanted someone in his bedchambers, then...

Legolas swallowed at the thought and his desires for his father.  Those cravings existed no matter how he fought them, despite everything he held true. Or perhaps those cravings existed because of everything. 

With a shake of his head, he forced the sudden heat away.  There were more important things to worry about, like what evil that foreign elf was doing to his father's body at that moment... 

 _Just think about that and that alone.  I have to save him.  Save us both from more misery.  Nothing more. Nothing less.  Haldir_ will _leave now, with or without his head attached._

Low voices drifted up on his rushing, barefooted pace and made him slow down.  He didn't notice the servant behind him had already stopped following him at some point, probably fleeing from the inevitable wrath of the king.  The voices went silent.  Shortly after, another servant hurried past him, doing nothing more than nodding without a glance. 

Pointed ears straining to listen but hearing nothing more, Legolas walked in the direction the servant and voices had come from, away from Thranduil's bedchamber.  The defunct trail led him to the lounge where the king and his dignitaries and, perhaps at one time, friends could relax and talk without watchful eyes.  As such, the room was lavishly decorated in plush couches, and chairs fronted with occasional low wooden tables for drinks and food.  Colorful rugs lined the floor to help keep the chill away.  The cavernous crackling fireplace took care of the rest. 

Around the corner from the entrance, in front of one chair, sat a particular table that made the relatively young elf's mind stop working.   His father rested on his hands and knees.  A glass sheet laid flat on his back.  Overall, Thranduil appeared only a bit softer than wood with his stiffened naked muscles.  The vague quivers of limbs gave that slight softness away. 

In fact, his father's mind was so concentrated on keeping his hands-and-knees position with every shallow breath that Legolas could see the dragon fire scar on his face Thranduil's vain illusion usually hid.  He saw other war wounds and lash marks as well, both old and a few new ones.  Neither his torso nor any limb had been spared disfiguration. 

Still unnoticed at the open entryway by the two elves who were lost own debauched worlds, Legolas couldn't stop his wide-eyed stare.  The heir had never realized before the extent of Thranduil's inflictions.  His father apparently hid quite a bit from him...  The sight brought bile up into his throat and tears to his eyes.  Was there ever a day his father wasn't in both mental and physical pain?  Why in the world would he ever want to add more to it?

But that desire to add was obvious and in full force.  And there apparently by the grace of Thranduil's own free will as much as his son wished it otherwise. 

Legolas knew that, with the power contained in Thranduil's large from, his father could have easily destroyed Haldir in any number of ways had the urge struck.  Furthermore, Legolas saw no bindings to hinder the king.  Well, other than that on the elf's dangling, slightly-swinging scrotum.  The delicate flesh was held taunt from Thranduil's body by a strange construct of silver metal he couldn't make out at that distance.  The metal weighed down the balls inside which had given Legolas an assured long life nearly a thousand years prior. 

Still wide-eyed, disturbed, and, at the same time, captivated beyond all measure, Legolas could barely breathe at the sight of exposed flesh between the king's shoulder-width spread legs, Thranduil's body almost fully facing away from him.  The spreading left nearly nothing to imagine, except for Thranduil's length hidden behind his leg.

On the thick glass sheet on Thranduil's back rested a flask half-filled with dark wine, a goblet, and a plate of steaming, aromatic food, probably the best thing that bastard, Haldir, had eaten for quite a while.   To the side of the 'table,' against the wall, the object of Legolas' current hate sat on the cushioned chair. Haldir was leading forward and eating choice nuggets of food off of the plate with one hand.  The other hand was reaching under Thranduil's stomach for his groin.  From the way Thranduil twitched with each round and tug Haldir's fingers made, Legolas suspected the elf was pulling on Thranduil's pubic hair. 

The sight of it, of all of it...  Legolas couldn't have imagined this sight in a century.  In his confusion, his body didn't know whether to attack the cause of all of this, at least the cause in the young elf's mind, or allow a certain part to stand to attention, or run away from a sight that painfully branded his mind.

His father never submitted like this! Never showed weakness, especially to an unworthy foreigner!  Even if Thranduil hadn't always been that way, the elder elf was now the epitome of a cold, calculated, decisive ruler.  His father - 

His father suddenly groaned weakly.

"Get away from him!" The yelping words were out of Legolas' mouth before he even realized the thought.  He'd drawn his long dagger as well without thinking.  But now that it was out, he tossed the scabbard and advanced on the elf he'd attached all of his rage onto.

Haldir was on his feet at the first couple of words, staring at him wide eyed and backing away.  "Wait! My Lord, this is _not_ what it looks like!" 

 _Not_ what it looked like?  Not what it looked like?! How the fuck could this be anything other than what it looked like?!

Despite their outbursts, Thranduil hadn't moved.  Perhaps he was locked in some kind of inner torment.  Perhaps he'd transcended it.  If the lacings of scars were any indication, after what was probably centuries or maybe even millenniums of practice, Thranduil probably had gone into himself rather easily and completely abandoned the world.  How else could Thranduil merely hold the position?  His father was never so lacking in thought.

The heir's hand wringing the blade, Legolas wishing it was at the elf's neck, the marchwarden was lucky he was still fully dressed or Legolas would have taken that moment to cut it off and save his father from what his son could only see as rape, even if Thranduil was a willing participant.  Especially if the king was a willing participant, as that made it all make even less sense.

His father never let anyone touch his strong body.  Legolas himself couldn't even touch him.  He couldn't remember the last time they'd touched. 

And now, this wretched creature had his claws between _his_ father's legs?!

"My Lord, allow me to unbind him, at least," Haldir said just above a whisper, "And then I will go."

"Get out of my home!" Haldir hesitated, so Legolas added, "NOW!  Or I will skewer you where you stand, lýgion [son of snakes]!"

The weaponless marchwarden held still for a moment longer, his face white with fear, but then nodded slowly.  "I will go as you command, my Lord. But unbind him or harm will come to him."

"Harm?!"  Legolas couldn't help his sputtering laugh.  This elf had the balls to speak of harm?  What the fuck did Haldir think all of this was, if not harm?  Nonetheless, while the concerned ridden words from Haldir's mouth egged on Legolas' fury, they also drenched him in further worry.  "GET OUT!"

Ignoring the screamed order for the most part, at least for the moment, Haldir put a calming hand out, which Legolas wanted to chop off, it being the same one Haldir had touched his father with.  The marchwarden added, "And stay with him until he is recovered."

Unwilling to listen to him any longer, let alone merely be in his presence, Legolas charged forward.  Haldir retreated on quick feet with a large circle around him and exited the open room, sky blue eyes glaring after him.  When the foreign elf was out of sight, Legolas' throat tight and constricting his breathing, he threw down the elongated dagger and rushed the rest of the way to his father's side. 

The plate, flask, and goblet flew off with loud clanks and sprays of food, liquid, and glass with a sweep of his arm.  He heaved the heavy glass sheet from his father's sweat-lined back.  How the sheet hadn't simply slipped off from the wetness... Legolas could only assume it was because of his father's expansive, more-or-less still frame.  He tilted and rested the mass against the front of the chair.

Through all of it, Thranduil hadn't even opened his eyes.  Legolas dropped to his knees near his face.  Thranduil looked...  Well, outside of the atrocity of his flesh, the king almost looked... Peaceful.  As absurd as the notion was to Legolas, he suddenly couldn't move in face of it.  He could barely breathe as tears came to his eyes again. 

Legolas leaned forward, his breath hitting his father's cheek.  But he stopped there, not sure if he should touch him.  "Adar [father]?"

The word brought a quiver to Thranduil's lips.  Then his chin dropped to his chest.  Apparently the king was reachable.  Legolas hesitantly touched an unmarred cheek with trembling fingers, and then pushed back waves of damp white-blonde hair behind an ear.

"Adar, come back to me."

While there was an increasing awareness, it wasn't happening quickly enough for Legolas' urgency.  He reached underneath his father's shoulders and heaved upwards.  The elf was a dead weight but offered no real resistance.  When he got him to sit back onto his ankles, Thranduil's body lulling, Legolas rolled him to the side, onto his back, careful to cradle his head.  At the touch of the cold stone floor, Thranduil's eyes flickered open.  The elder elf sucked in a breath.  Soon enough, Legolas felt Thranduil's eyes latch onto him but didn't meet the gaze.  Instead, Legolas' wide eyes were glued to his father's damp torso partially shrouded by the long hair sticking to it. 

Thranduil's nipples were pierced with two silver rings dangling with small attached weights.  When he'd been on his hands and knees, the weight of them surely had pulled at the small swollen nubs. 

Looking further down, even more shocking was the metal he saw on his father's forcefully hard and jutting cock, forced that way by the thin rope coiled at its base.  Evenly spaced down the length of the erection laid three sets of small silver metal balls on either side, as well as a set at the head. Legolas could only assume that they were piercings, metal inside the flesh holding the balls in place.  Or, rather, the balls held the metal in place.  He didn't dare touch the length to test his theory despite his hands itching to do just that.

In addition to the other metal, a thick, piercing ring entered the urethra and came out on the underside where the head ended.  A heavier weight was attached there, dragging the erection towards his hip despite the binding rope.

Down further still, Legolas finally understood the odd configuration of metal hanging on Thranduil's scrotum.  So taken back by it, he didn't know what to feel about what he saw.  He especially didn't know what his father had been thinking when he'd done it to himself.  The sack had been permanently slit in the middle, creating a ring of flesh.  Over each testicle laid three heavy rings encompassing both sides of skin.  The rings looked far too heavy to be even remotely comfortable.  But perhaps comfort wasn't what Thranduil had been seeking when it'd been done.

Considering the speed with which elves healed, Legolas had no idea when these modifications might have happened.  But Haldir had been coming to see his father on occasion for several centuries.  Had Haldir forced him into it?  Legolas couldn't see that as possible.  No one could force his father to do anything against his will! 

Then again...

For whatever reason the metal and lashes, Legolas assumed were from Haldir, were there, and for whatever reason Thranduil had been used as a piece of furniture amongst whatever else had been done to him, all of it made the heir wish he'd killed the Lórien elf when he'd had the chance. 

Surely Haldir had been the deciding factor to everything in one way or another.  Surely his father hadn't thought of all of this on his own.  Surely...

Tears finally fell at Legolas' despair over what he'd let happen to his beloved for so many years without any real outwards prior protest.  "Adar, forgive me."  Seconds after he'd laid him on the floor, Legolas finally looked to his father's lethargic, confused eyes.  "I-I should have stopped him sooner. Much sooner.  I knew not..."

Looking away to the ceiling, Thranduil raised a shaky hand and swept through his own long damp locks stuck to his forehead, then gripped the hair as his eyes squeezed shut. Legolas swallowed at what felt like a rejection and drifted his gaze back to the painful-looking erection again. 

Haldir had said to untie him... 

Legolas decided he'd listen to that at least since the cock was excruciating for him just to look at.  He couldn't imagine the torment it caused his king.  With hesitant hands, he tugged at the loose knot, bringing a growl from his father. 

A large hand almost immediately gripped his own, pulling it away, stopping what was probably unwanted overstimulation.  "Where... is Haldir?"  Thranduil's voice was thick, slurred in a way Legolas had never heard before.

And the fact that Thranduil had asked for _him_ , wanted _him_ and not his son...

"I sent him away."  Their gazes met again.  Legolas hoped his face spoke of his rage when he growled, "And I will never allow him in our doors again."

Something built up in his father's body as the whole of it tensed.  "Leave me." When the younger elf didn't move in the least, only stared with gritted teeth and tear-stained eyes, Thranduil shouted, "NOW!"

The simple word felt like a scalding burn. 

Thranduil's burns, scars, and markings, on the other hand, slowly disappeared as if melting away as his father's mind steadily came back to him.

Legolas couldn't move, gripped by fear for many reasons.  Mostly because he feared if he walked away now, considering the distance already between them, his father would never allow him in his presence again. 

A whisper, the prince beseeched, "Adar, you cannot order me away.  Not now.  Please.  Let me..." 

Instead of waiting for agreement or consent, Legolas shoved his father's hand off of his own with the force it took, no more, no less.  Then he went back to work on the knot.  It came apart easily enough.  Apparently it was just meant to keep the looping taunt.  When it came undone, their breathing harsh, Thranduil struck his hand away and then worked to sit up with trembling muscles.  Legolas immediately assisted his sweat-slick body.  That, at least, Thranduil allowed. 

Once seated, swaying slightly, Thranduil's breathing haggard, the king worked to remove the binding around his length.  His body shuddered repeatedly at it.  How long had he been hard and unable to come?  Far too long from the look of it.  The flesh was red, swollen, making Legolas' own ache with sympathy.  The binding had bit into his father's skin, creating temporary indentations that looked like pain onto itself.  Legolas couldn't imagine being the one to feel it.

He wanted to help.  He just wanted to help... "Adar -"

"LEAVE ME!"

Legolas couldn't help his body's jolt at the sudden roared words.  His heart seemed to stop beating and then hammered.  His skin flushed at the heat of the confrontation.  For the first time in his life he wondered if his father would actually strike him for his insolence, for not listening.  But he still wouldn't leave even if Thranduil did lash out.

When the moment lengthened, neither of them acting further, Legolas swallowed and whispered, "I will not leave you."

Thranduil's breaths quivered at the words.  When bright, piercing, confused blue eyes looked up at the younger elf, Legolas reached up and tucked Thranduil's drying silken locks behind an ear again.  The simple touch left him wanting so much more.  And with his father's present agitated, muddled state, and considering Legolas' own chaotic, corrupted mind over the situation as a whole, it became all too easy to imagine what he'd do to his father.  He even thought he might be able to act upon his imaginings despite his fears.

Legolas let his hand drift back over the lie of untarnished flesh until he cupped his father's cheek. Carefully, against the world's better judgment, he leaned forward to kiss his father.  Thranduil's eyes widened and his head twisted away.

With far less strength than before, the king's arms covering his own lower half in a useless display of modesty, his pain obvious in his trembles, Thranduil whispered, "Legolas... Leave me..."

_No, I cannot.  Not even if you beg me._

If this overabundance of pain and debauchery was what had been allowed, even encouraged, with their distance, then Legolas no longer wanted the distance in the least.  And his father couldn't want this.  Legolas just couldn't believe he did. 

And with that notion came the inability to listen, even while some part of him told him to do just that, to listen to his father and the wisdom the heir knew he had.

But the only thing going through Legolas' mind was _'No'_.  And somehow he had to get his father to feel the same way.

Trying to use Haldir's words as an excuse since, on his own, he could barely ease his father's mind, Legolas finally replied, "Haldir told me not to leave you."

Thranduil's beautiful, more aware face became marred with a frown before he looked back to his son.  Legolas couldn't help but look down under the intense gaze.  His focus went to small weighted nipples.  Drawn to them, distracting himself while indulging in his own deviant but previously hidden cravings, Legolas couldn't help but lift his hand to test the weight of one, marveling at it.  Thranduil sucked in his breath at the cautious tug but didn't dare pull away from the sudden grasp.  Then Legolas tried it again, looking into his father's eyes, and the whole of Thranduil's body quivered, enthralling the younger elf, hardening his length underneath his damp robe.

With his father's lack of outward protest, Legolas played with the weight, bringing more shivers that made the king's eyes close. The younger elf then swallowed and said in words more honest than what he'd said to his father for centuries, "I... I want to be the one to give you your pleasure.  Not him."  He dragged in a trembling breath at the renewed anger swelling his heart.  "Even if you force me away, I _will_ kill him if he steps foot in here again."

Then he tugged harder, making Thranduil hiss, which in turn made Legolas' cock jump. Blue eyes met blue eyes and Legolas saw raw, unspecified hunger.  In that moment, he understood why Haldir would want to force such sounds and reactions from Thranduil's body, even if Legolas couldn't understand why Thranduil would allow it.

Somewhere Thranduil found the strength to say through unsteady breaths, "You cannot order him away, iônneg [my son]."

Legolas' erection became painful with need at the searching, wanting look on his father's face.  "I can and I have."  When Thranduil said nothing further, Legolas' curiosity too great, he asked, "Do you like pain?"

Thranduil blinked at the words then studied his son with partially lidded eyes, probably trying to determine with his most-likely still foggy mind how much he should say, before answering.  Legolas almost thought he wouldn't answer.  But then the king whispered breathily, "Sometimes.  When I want more.  When I'm not getting enough.  Which is often enough."

The words made Legolas' breaths grow heavier as hand drifted lower over a taunt stomach, tracing the indentations and hard, quivering muscle under soft, damp skin. Thranduil's eyes closed with another shudder and his arms moved out of his son's way, submitting to Legolas' desires and perhaps his own.

Legolas watched his hand's decent, enthralled, and whispered, "Why?"

The king's breath hitched when Legolas' fingers scraped through coarse pubic hair.  "Because I become lost in it."

Lost? 

Legolas' hand grabbed the base of the solid erection, as if a lifeline, bringing his father quaking breaths to come freely and deeply through his mouth.  "I don't want to lose you anymore, ada [dad].  My heart can no longer bear it."

The king shook his head, eyes heavily lidded.  "Not that kind of losing."

"It is to me."

Obviously still a bit confused and disorientated from his former mindless state, and perhaps even a growing desire, Thranduil nonetheless frowned.  But then his eyes fluttered shut again as Legolas ran his hand over the length of his neglected cock. The bumps of metal played under the caress.  The weight of it was thick with the metal and engorgement. He could only imagine Thranduil's sensations as the larger elf shuddered.  Then Thranduil wrapped his hand over Legolas', stopping it, but didn't force a withdrawal.

"Iônneg...  Do you understand what it is you do?"

"What do you mean?"

The king swallowed and looked to him wearily. "You touch me as a lover would."

The words only made his son want more, want his father more, if that was even possible.  He leaned forward and caressed his lips over Thranduil's, and then said against them, "The only thing that could make me stop now is you saying no, ada.  I pray you will not," before he kissed him softly with trembling lips as desire overtook him

When Legolas could hear his own heart hammering in his head, making him breathless, Thranduil pulled away and cupped the younger elf's cheek with his free hand.  When Legolas forced his eyes open, he saw something he couldn't define in his father's face.  Fear?  Sorrow?  Confusion?

"You have seen me, iônneg.  All that I am.  You are not disgusted?"

The words brought Legolas' own frown lined in confusion.  "How could I be?  Ci bain sui in elin [you are as beautiful as the stars]."

Despite the words and the warmth behind them, Thranduil pressed his lips together, his face downcast.  For the first time since his mother's death, Legolas swore he saw tears wetting his father's starlit eyes.

Then a small smile stole Legolas' heart.  "Your mother once said similar words to me.  Do you know what I said back to her?"  He looked back up, his eyes glistening.  Legolas shook his head.  "Gerich veleth nîn [you have my love]. Do with it what you will."

The look, the words brought tears to Legolas' own eyes.  He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his father's.  At the touch, the lack of resistance from his beloved, the tears fell.  "Gerich veleth nîn, ada."

Thranduil's heavy breaths tangled with his own, leaving the younger elf dizzy with love and desire.  Then his king gripped his face harshly as a needy mouth bruised Legolas' in a demanding kiss, seeking far more from his son than he ever had before.  The kiss deepened almost immediately and stole Legolas' ability to think. One of Thranduil's hands surged to the back of his head and held him, not allowing the chance for escape. Not that he wanted to.

A minute later, after thoroughly reddening his son's mouth with his own and with teeth, his hand tangled in Legolas' damp, soapy hair, the king whispered, "Did you just take a bath?  Your hair needs brushing."

Legolas couldn't help his sputtering, overwhelmed laugh.  "Yes, I did."

Thranduil pulled away a bit more and tried to get the hand through tangled locks without much success. "Let me brush it for you."

Legolas had been so little the last time his father had done it for him.  Those times had been some of the kindest to him.  The idea of Thranduil doing it now made his heart swell.  He nodded, not trusting his mouth, not wanting to break the moment, the sudden reconnection.  He was positive it would break if he did anything outside of comply.

Then again...  As he attempted to rise, he was reminded of the hardness between his legs that pushed at his robe.  Redness coloring his cheeks, he looked to the other elf who had the same issue.  Thranduil's heated gaze looked to what was between Legolas' legs peeking out from beneath the cloth.  The look did nothing to release the swelling. 

The king leaned forward, caressing his lips near his ear and whispered, "Let me take care of that as well."

It was a moment Legolas would have had no problem ensuring that offer came to light, whether by forcing his father to the floor or letting Thranduil do it to him.  Which way they went about didn't truly matter to him.  Just as long as his father was his and his alone.


End file.
